


Tender not the night

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: The Great Nargothrond Threesome Project [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M, Multi, PWP, Power Dynamics, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod watches from the shadows, but his cousins can see in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender not the night

Finrod slipped on light feet down the winding stairs to the caverns in the depths of Nargothrond. The air was cool and damp down here, and he made his way past the caves where they kept the wines and the cheeses, on past the cells (moving more quickly here; something about their iron presence always made him shudder), and, inevitably, to the forges. 

He paused at the entrance. A low, red light was gleaming beyond; the forge was hot and clearly in use. And who could be up at such an hour, in such a place, but one? He hesitated still, rocking slightly forward at the lintel. Should he go through? What did he hope for? Why – _why_ did he find himself here, once again? Another night, another hesitation… 

Voices broke into his preoccupation and he frowned. More than one person, frequenting the forge? Perhaps Celebrimbor… He dismissed the thought out of hand. Father and son were never found in each other’s company, these days, let alone holding civil conversations. And this particular conversation, still on the edge of hearing, carried a lighter cadence than could ever be suspected of one between Celebrimbor and Curufin. 

Curiosity piqued, Finrod slipped through the doorway and into the shadows. 

The forge, though still hot, was banked, and Curufin was bent over his workbench, clearly tidying away the work of the evening. His long dark hair was caught back in a braid that slipped over one shoulder, and he wore a rough apron over simple smith’s clothes. Finrod took a long breath; he had no idea why the sight of Curufin arrayed so simply had such an effect on him. But it gave him an edge of softness and warmth that was far removed from his usual unapproachable beauty, and it made Finrod want to… want to… 

…to wrap that long braid around his hand and pull his cousin close; to cover those stern lips with his own; to wind his arms around that hard waist and pull loose the ties of the smith’s apron; to push Curufin back, against the wall, or over the work bench, make him give up his cool reserve and turn hot and needy beneath Finrod’s hands, to moan out his name… 

“…Findaráto.” 

Finrod started, and shrank back into the shadows, suddenly tense at the sound of his name. Had his presence been sensed? And then he noticed, at last, the source of the other voice in the room. 

A powerful, fair-haired figure sprawled in the forge’s one chair, legs indolently apart, gazing up at his brother with amusement. 

“What would our dear cousin say if he could hear you speaking thus?” Celegorm was saying, and Curufin gave an irritated twitch of his shoulders, turning to hang his tools from the hooks by the anvil.

“Something breathtakingly diplomatic, no doubt,” he said, and as he turned away from the wall, Finrod caught a flash of something vicious in his grey eyes. 

Celegorm chuckled. “Ah, the storied Arafinwëan diplomacy.” He made a crude gesture. “Always sucking the cock of those they wish to use.” 

“I hope you’re not implying I would ever allow myself to be used.” Curufin untied his apron and hung it by the forge. 

“Never,” Celegorm said, but there was suppressed laughter in his voice. 

Curufin made a noise of annoyance and crossed the room.

As Curufin passed him, Celegorm reached out and caught his brother’s wrist, grinning. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

Curufin let himself be dragged back and stared down at his brother, exasperatedly.  “I’m trying to tidy up, fool.” 

Celegorm tugged him closer, so that Curufin stood between Celegorm’s parted legs, his arm still caught in Celegorm’s hand. Celegorm slid his hand up his brother’s arm, wrapping his fingers around his bicep. “Curvo. My beautiful obsessive. This place is as neat as a pin. Be still, for once.”

Curufin snorted. “It is the stillness that chafes at me, brother, as you should remember.” 

There was something wicked in Celegorm’s smile as he drew his brother closer, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Curufin, despite his appearance of impatience, drew in a breath as Celegorm wrapped an arm around his waist. 

“Then let me chafe at you instead,” Celegorm whispered.

“How do you propose to do that?” Curufin’s voice was low, but his eyes had darkened, anticipatory. 

“Like this,” said Celegorm, and pulled Curufin down into a kiss. 

In the shadows, Finrod sought the wall and braced himself against it. He could feel himself trembling lightly; in shock, he told himself, but the way his body was responding had nothing to do with surprise. 

 _Leave_ , he told himself. _Leave, and pretend you were never here. Turn, retrace your steps, return to your chambers, and banish this from your mind. Pretend you never saw what took place this night; never saw the way –_

The way Curufin tangled one hand in Celegorm’s hair and kissed him back savagely, his other hand tearing at the laces of Celegorm’s tunic. The way Celegorm held his brother’s hips, pulling him in close to cradle his body between his widespread legs; the way Curufin ground forward against his brother’s groin. The way Celegorm’s hands wandered to the small of Curufin’s back, and then lower, drawing a sound from Curufin, low and needy, that ignited such heat in Finrod that he had to restrain his hands from drifting to his own arousal – 

 _At least look away_ , he told himself, but he could just as easily have plucked his eyes from his head. 

Celegorm was latching his mouth to Curufin’s throat now, one hand working to undo the laces of Curufin’s breeches, and Curufin’s head was falling back, his eyes closed and mouth open as he panted openly and pressed himself against his brother’s hand. 

It wasn’t until Curufin froze, eyes flickering open, that Finrod realized he had moaned aloud.

“What,” began Celegorm, but Curufin laid a finger to his brother’s lips, watching the shadows carefully. Finrod drew back, but Curufin spoke. 

“You, in the shadows. Step forth.” He smiled, and it cut like glass. “Cousin.” 

Knowing that to flee would only damage his pride further, Finrod obeyed. Reminding himself that these were his halls, after all, and his kingdom, and that it was they, not he, discovered in such a compromising position, he held his head high and met Curufin’s gaze directly. 

Celegorm let out a bark of laughter. “Why, Findaráto. I never thought you one for skulking in shadows.” 

“Indeed,” said Curufin softly. He stood still between his brother’s legs, one of Celegorm’s arms still around his waist, his clothes in disarray and the marks of his brother’s teeth on his throat. But he radiated such control, and such calm, that Finrod was tempted to drop his gaze before him.

“And what do you think of what you have seen from your shadows, cousin?” he asked. “Does it shock you, to see how your savage kinfolk play?”

Celegorm showed his teeth in a ferocious smile, and ran his hand down Curufin’s stomach to palm the bulge between his legs. “Does it disgust you, Felagund?” His voice was mocking. “Does our aberrance appall you?” 

Curufin was watching Finrod, and something like a smile twisted his lips. “I think not. I think it has had a different effect on our lovely cousin. Am I wrong, Ingoldo?”

Finrod refused to let himself flush. Instead he said, evenly, “I confess myself surprised.” 

Curufin’s smile was more of a sneer now. “ _Surprised_. Why, did you expect me to wait for you? Did you expect me to keep myself pure for you, until you decided you could so lower yourself as to share your bed with one such as me? If I cannot have you, Ingoldo, I can at least have my fair brother.” 

Celegorm growled, and his fingers tightened in Curufin’s flesh. “ ‘Ware, Curvo. I am no one’s second best.” 

Curufin dragged his fingers through Celegorm’s loose hair, smiling even as he never took his eyes from Finrod’s face. “Peace, brother. You know how I treasure you.” His voice sank to a purr as he tugged Celegorm’s head back, exposing his throat, and he lowered his mouth to the pulse point fluttering in Celegorm’s jugular. He straightened, smiling down at his brother, and then turned back to Finrod. 

“Why did you come down here in the first place?” he asked, deadly and soft.

 _To seek you_ , Finrod thought, and hated the truth of it. So he held his tongue and said nothing, though Curufin clearly read the answer in his face, for his smile widened.

“And what were you doing, hidden in the shadows?” he asked. “Watching us in silence – ah, but not quite in silence.”

Celegorm laughed, his hands dexterously pulling the last of the laces free from Curufin’s tunic, laying his chest bare. “He was growing hard watching me touch you, Curvo. Push aside those pretty robes and you’ll see the evidence of it, true enough.” 

Finrod swallowed, but did not speak. He could not deny it. 

“Shall we do that?” asked Curufin, quietly, even as Celegorm pulled the tunic from his shoulders, running strong hands over his bare torso.

 _No_ , Finrod wanted to say. _No, I’m leaving; leave me from your games; let me pretend this never happened…_  

But instead, he found himself meeting his cousin’s eyes squarely, raising his hands to the clasps of his robes, and letting them drop to the floor. He wore nothing beneath his sleep clothes, and so he stood naked before his cousins. 

“Ahh.” Curufin let out his breath in a hiss. Pulling away from Celegorm, he prowled over to Finrod, drawing so close that Finrod could feel the heat of his skin. 

Curufin stretched out a hand, raising it to cup Finrod’s cheek with something like affection. Finrod felt himself yearning to lean into his touch, but held himself still. A predatory look came into Curufin’s eyes, and he wrapped his fingers around Finrod’s arm and pulled him in. But rather than touching him, he spun him around and pushed him back sharply. Finrod stumbled, and felt strong arms catch him. 

Celegorm, still seated, pulled him down into his lap, his breath hot on the back of Finrod’s neck, his hands none too gentle as he stroked them over Finrod’s thighs, tugging his legs apart so that he straddled Celegorm’s lap. 

“I’ve never liked you, Ingoldo,” Celegorm murmured, and Finrod shuddered as a calloused hand wrapped around him. “You are weak, and interfering, and,” he bit lightly at Finrod’s ear, “you have _terrible_ timing.” 

Finrod struggled to keep his composure as Celegorm’s hand stroked him deftly, and that low voice at his ear growled threats and promises and filthy endearments. It was a losing battle, though, and soon his head was dropping back on Celegorm’s broad shoulder, and he was groaning wantonly as Celegorm brought him brutally close to the edge of pleasure. 

Light fingers wrapped around his throat, and he opened his eyes to see Curufin standing above him. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Golden Ingoldo. But,” he sighed as his fingers stroked over Finrod’s neck. “You wear no adornment…” 

“I do not wear it at night,” Finrod managed, trembling as Curufin’s fingers tightened around his throat.

“A pity,” said Curufin, and he bent and kissed him. 

Finrod found himself seeking Curufin’s mouth eagerly, parting his lips and accepting Curufin’s tongue, stirring to even greater pleasure as he heard Curufin make a sound of contentment, low in his chest. 

Celegorm let out a snarl of frustration. “Curvo,” he hissed. “Valar all damn, will you just leave me like this?” 

“Apologies, brother,” said Curufin, pulling away from Finrod, who found himself aching at the loss. He leaned over Finrod’s shoulder and kissed his brother deeply, hands sliding into Celegorm’s hair. “Shall I prepare him for you?” 

Celegorm made a violent noise in the back of his throat, and Curufin laughed. “How does that sound to you, my beauty?” he asked, pulling back to regard Finrod, stripped bare and panting against Celegorm’s chest. 

“Perfect,” whispered Finrod, and knew he was utterly lost. 

Curufin laughed again, and knelt before them both, lowering his mouth to Finrod’s cock and taking him in to the hilt. 

Already pushed to the edge, the wet heat of Curufin’s mouth was almost too much for him. 

It was true what they said, about Curufin being as good with his tongue as with his hands. Though somehow, Finrod thought feverishly, he doubted this was what they had meant. 

Soon he was crying out, hands fisting in Curufin’s hair, and Celegorm, watching, murmured, “Not much longer.” Finrod arched back, right on the brink, and Curufin pulled away, too quickly, and let Finrod spill across his stomach.

“Perfect,” he echoed, a laugh in his voice, and he slicked his fingers with seed. As Finrod shivered, oversensitive and spent, Curufin pushed a finger gently into him. “Open up for me, cousin.” 

Celegorm groaned, his arousal hard against Finrod’s back. “Hurry _up_ , Curvo.” 

“Patience,” murmured Curufin. “He is so very _tight_ , brother…” Finrod bit his lip, hard, as Curufin added another finger, scissoring them within him. There was discomfort, but already he could feel himself hardening again, mostly at the heat in those iridescent eyes as Curufin watched him intently. 

Celegorm groaned again. “You are torturing me, and I would kill you for it if I – ” 

“If you didn’t know it would be worth the wait,” finished Curufin. “On your knees,” he ordered Finrod, and Finrod obeyed. 

He slid from Celegorm’s lap to the cold stone floor, and as he knelt before his cousin, Curufin smiled down at him.

“What a beautiful reversal,” he said, and caressed Finrod’s cheek. “Now, Tyelko.” 

Celegorm must have stripped as soon as Finrod slipped from his lap, for the next thing Finrod felt was his cousin’s bare chest against his back and his hard arousal hot against him. “Up,” commanded Curufin. “Astride him.” 

Finrod raised himself until he was straddling Celegorm’s thighs, and could feel Celegorm starting to press into him from behind. 

“Slowly,” whispered Curufin, and his fingers slid from Finrod’s cheek to trace his ear, a light and tender touch. “I do not think he is much accustomed to this kind of use.”

Finrod laughed at that, if a little breathlessly, his laugh breaking on a cry as Celegorm slid deeper. “ _Ah_ \- ! Not so, cousin…” 

“Regaining your tongue, are you?” Curufin looked amused. “I meant only that I imagine it’s been a while. Many years, after all, since your late lamented human thrust his fat cock inside you…” 

A flash of anger lit Finrod at that, and he made an agitated movement that pulled a groan from Celegorm. _How dare Curufin speak of Bëor, in such a way? How distant he had seemed until now, Bëor his beloved, Bëor the ever faithful, Bëor whom he had loved with such purity … And how dare Curufin make of him think of such things now, of all times?_

Celegorm was laughing, even as he gripped Finrod’s hips and thrust forward, one hand wrapping once again around Finrod’s hardening cock. “Careful,” he whispered, in Finrod’s ear. “You are letting him get to you. How my little brother loves to enrage…” 

“Do not spoil the fun,” said Curufin lightly, as he began to work his breeches down over his hips. “He was getting so nicely wound up for you, Tyelko. See how he writhes… And it was stirring his cock, too.” 

Finrod could not deny the truth of it, again, so he settled for reaching forward and seizing Curufin by the hips, tugging him close so that he could sink his teeth into the jut of Curufin’s pelvis. Behind him, Celegorm wrapped an arm around Finrod’s chest to keep him upright. Finrod’s knees ached on the hard stone floor, but all he cared about was the sharp burn and pleasure of Celegorm inside him, that rough hand about him, and before him, the reddening mark on Curufin’s hipbone. 

A hand came down and slapped him lightly. “Tut,” said Curufin, but he sounded pleased. “Not without permission, cousin.” 

Finrod snarled up at him. “I don’t need permission to mark you,” he shot. “You are already mine, whatever you say.” 

Celegorm gave a growl and the arm around his chest tightened. “Careful, my lord,” he said, and the title sounded like a curse on his tongue. 

“No, no,” said Curufin. “I’m quite interested. How do you figure, Ingoldo?” 

“You have been mine since the day you arrived,” said Finrod, locking eyes with Curufin. “I have known it from the way you watch me. I read it in the hunger in your eyes. I can see your thoughts spill across your face in unguarded moments. I know…” 

“Enough,” said Curufin, and his voice was hard now. “But then, cousin, you belong to me just the same. Don’t think I miss your eyes on me, or how you visit my quarters to _talk_ , only to leave at the last minute, terrified I might actually invite you to stay. Why do you think you came down here, tonight? We both know that you want me as much as I want you…” 

Celegorm let out a curse. “By the balls of Manwë, stop flirting and get on with it!” He pulled Finrod hard back across his chest. He thrust deep and struck a spot within him that made pleasure flare sharp and bright through Finrod, and everything else was wiped clear. 

Laughter came then, and an ungentle tug on his hair. “Oh no, do not lose yourself just yet. I have given you to my brother. What shall you give to me?” 

“Anything.” _By the Valar, he was doomed_. “Whatever you want.” 

“Good answer.” Curufin’s fingers tugged once more on his hair. “What I want is to put that golden tongue to better use.” He freed his heavy erection at last, and without a word, Finrod took it into his mouth. 

- 

He woke in his own chambers, having crept back up the winding stairs in the grey hours of early dawn. 

There was an ache, as he rolled over, and he knew that if he stood before a mirror he would see the bruises on his knees, the bites on his neck and shoulders, the marks of fingernails dug into his sides. 

He searched his mind, looking for shame, or disgust, or self-loathing, but found none. Instead, he only found himself thinking, _Next time, I shall invite them up here_. 

And it was a sign of how quickly, how easily he had fallen that he found himself smiling at the thought.

_Next time._

 

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. So this mad endeavor ends (hopefully).  
> 1\. This one got away from me. I apologize for everything.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No prison, no shrine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605238) by [LiveOakWithMoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss)




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